


Dancing In Flames

by slothy_girl



Series: Sway with Me (Hold Me Close) [6]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Domestic smut, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Introspection, M/M, Marking, Memories and dreams, Post-Kingdom Hearts III, Power Bottom!Sora, Re:Mind Compliant, Reincarnation, Sora literally spilling his feelings everywhere, Sort of..., a dash of pain kink, a little violence, a pinch of praise kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:53:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24574870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slothy_girl/pseuds/slothy_girl
Summary: “Did you see the way they looked at me?” Sora asks dully, collapsing onto his knees beside them and drawing one of Riku’s lifeless hands into his. It’s cold and unresponsive. Sora’s heart aches. He hopes blindly, naively, desperately that it doesn’t mean what he thinks it does.“They’ll get over it,” Kairi says tightly, mouth a pinched, colorless line. Sweat drips down the tense, dirt covered lines of her face. “We’ve got bigger things to worry about. Sora, he’s not breathing—his heart’s not beating—”And everything freezes.*~<3~*The Thrilling Conclusion of the Series!
Relationships: Riku/Sora (Kingdom Hearts)
Series: Sway with Me (Hold Me Close) [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643101
Comments: 4
Kudos: 73





	Dancing In Flames

**Author's Note:**

> This IS IT THANK THE GODS! It’s supposed to function as like an epilogue of sorts and it happens a little bit into the future, just a heads up. This is my first time posting smut, so let me know if it’s terrible. If you’re just here for the little bit of overarching plot resolution and would prefer not to read the spice, please see the end notes for assistance.
> 
> Beta'd by myself and two other wonderful human beans, who said my smut was sweet and adorable lol
> 
> Title from "Sway With Me" by Saweetie and GALXARA

-

“Stand and face me, my love, and scatter the grace in your eyes.” –Sappho

-

**|Dancing In Flames|**

No, no, no, nono—

“What the fuck did you do to Riku?” Sora rumbles with a thousand echoing voices, skin and bones contorting in ways no normal human’s should.

But he’s not some normal human, is he?

He’s more than himself, outside of himself—he’s anger and chaos and destruction. He’s righteous entropy, nebulous creation. Stars live and die in his heart, by his hands. No one escapes him and he never forgets, his vision amber-tinted and blazing—and he can’t control himself. A verifiable storm rages around him from the energy gushing violently from him, rock and earth disintegrating into dust beneath his feet. Light and Dark bend around the sheer force of his gravity.

And he can’t control _any of it._

(It’s never felt like this before—control a thin wire he cuts himself on just trying to get a grip, but it slips through his fingers over and over again, like sand, like water, slicing through skin to the bone—not even when he was stuck reliving the past, when the energy beating through his veins was greater and more volatile than what he has at his disposal now. He has dim memories of the eons before the first world came into existence, of a time before existence was beyond that of a mere physical concept. When there was nothing and everything, and it was just him and Riku. But those memories aren’t easy to think about, to focus on, like maybe something in Sora, whatever it is that keeps him _human_ in a way the Gods of the past couldn’t be, shies away from it—

He can’t help but notice that the _taste_ in the air is deeply familiar though, ancient and dark and bitter, thick on his tongue. It’s all he can think about past the panic and rage boiling his blood. There’s only one other time he can clearly remember it.

And it was before Riku had split Daybreak Town into pieces and scattered them in a constellation of worlds across the Lanes In Between.)

He tries to take a deep breath, to calm the roar in his ears, but there are a hundred more mouths he isn’t used to having and far too many teeth, and he’s not even entirely sure if he _has_ lungs like this, Gods. He wants Riku, _needs_ Riku. Riku would know what to do. But Riku can’t help him now, not when _he_ needs saving too—

That’s the whole fucking reason they’re in this mess to begin with.

There are shouts and explosions of magic, and a constant ringing echoes through the air like a bell that endlessly tolls, but they’re all distant and hazy and hard to focus on, sand sifting through grasping fingers. He’s a boat stranded out on the unforgiving sea, but he’s also the sea, vicious and unyielding, that crashes against the boat. He knows, peripherally, that many of his friends are here too, but only Riku’s unconscious form—dim and still and nothing like Sora’s ever seen before, in any life—and the two men hovering above him are clear, beacons, bright and burning in the forefront of his awareness.

“Come on, Sora. Don’t you think this is a little dramatic?” Master of Masters drawls, slouching like he’s unconcerned, but Sora’s senses are all-encompassing and overwhelming. He can see the tremors, small as they are, in his hands, can feel the way his breath hitches in his lungs. “We were friends once. Don’t you trust me?”

“Not with Riku. Not after last time,” he manages to spit out around teeth too big for some of his mouths, the rest opened and gaping in howling, ear-shattering wails. Everything in him is straining—to tear these two apart, to throw himself at Riku’s side, to just end everything, cleave this world in two and start from scratch—and it’s difficult to resist it, the power vibrating in him, around him. It’s only that peripheral thought, his friends, that is keeping him from just letting go, even though some part of him, some great and _angry_ part of him, _wants to anyways_ — “Why are you doing this?”

“Why else?” Luxu laughs and gestures grandly. “Kingdom Hearts. And now with your precious χ-blade out of the way—”

“Fuck you!”

“Hey, it’s not nice to interrupt, former royalty or not.”

“Your manners used to be so much better. I guess that’s what happens when you’re reborn as someone like that.”

“And you guys never change! There’s so much more to it than you know and you’ll never understand,” Sora hisses, the air around him shivering with it. “If you want me, come and get me, cowards!”

“Please, we’re not suicidal.” Master of Masters runs a hand through his blonde hair and sighs. “But don’t worry, Sora. Your time will come soon enough.”

Dark corridors open up around the two of them, and it would be so easy to catch the thread of that darkness, to pull it apart, split the void and drag them back, make them pay, but there’s suddenly something… niggling in his awareness.

He whips around to face it—

And it’s Vanitas, face twisted into a rabid snarl, blood steadily dripping from his nose, from cuts on his cheeks, red tears running from his eyes, and he’s saying something—screaming something. It takes a moment for Sora to understand, to make sense of the sounds coming out of his mouth over the storm and his own bitter cries—

“You promised, you motherfucking bastard!”

Oh.

Yes, that’s right.

Sora grabs onto Vanitas’s hand where his nails bite into one of his barely corporeal arms. Flesh hisses and pops under his, thick and meaty, but Vanitas only grips him harder, and Sora uses that—his pain, his determination, his will, his _life_ —as an anchor to violently drag himself back from the brink.

Ringing silence cuts through the noise, a beat, a breath, before thunderous howls shatter through the air as he stuffs everything back inside, all the things that make him more than human, the things that make him less than a God, forcing it all back into the rigid mortal confines of his fragile body, closing his bones and muscles and skin around it, containing it until he’s claustrophobic with it—

“Thank you,” he says, _finally_ , with one mouth and only one set of teeth. Sees with only two eyes the suffering he’s unwittingly caused. He carefully thumbs at one trail of bloody tears and heals him, says again, “Thank you.”

He’d shatter the Final World, would drain the Dark Margin dry, end the universe all together for Riku, but he can’t afford to lose himself in the process. Not if he wants to save him and not if he wants to keep his friends safe. It’s something Sora doesn’t usually forget, and though he’s old hat at forgetting things, it’s not usually so difficult to remember _this_.

“Is everyone else okay?”

“A little worse for wear, but nothing a Curaga couldn’t fix.”

“Good…” Sora says, shoulders slumping.

Vanitas’s voice is gruff and firm when he says, “Sora, let us take care of them. You focus on saving Riku.”

Sora unconsciously digs fingers into the soft give of Vanitas’s cheek, and even though Vanitas doesn’t even flinch, he forces his grip gentle again. He’s hurt him enough as it is, has hurt everyone, and he already regrets it. “I trust you,” he grits out. And he does. He trusts him, trusts all his friends. But at the same time, everything in him violently rebels at the idea of letting them handle it. This is _his_ mission, his problem to deal with. Wants the carnal satisfaction of the chase, the inevitable end, of watching the light seep from those fuckers’ eyes for the last Godsdamned time—because he’d make sure they could never come back, would split their life strands and burn them in Light and Dark until not even ash remains. “I _trust_ you—” to make them pay, to make them _bleed_ , to rip their throats out and rend them limb from limb, he doesn’t say, but it’s a language Vanitas is well-versed in because all he does is nod, smile twisting savage and fierce under his palm.

“With pleasure.”

And they’re gone.

Everyone, that is, except his half-pint team and Kairi, Riku held protectively in her arms.

“Sora?” Goofy squeezes his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Don’t worry, Sora, I’m sure everything will be okay,” Donald warbles tentatively.

“Did you see the way they looked at me though?” Sora asks dully, collapsing onto his knees beside Kairi and drawing one of Riku’s lifeless hands into his. It’s cold and unresponsive. Sora’s heart _aches_. The gentle ebb and flow of their bond is gone, replaced with a wound, raw and gaping, weeping. There are gaps he can distantly sense, ragged holes in him that hadn’t existed before that he _knows_ were supposed to be filled with Riku.

He hopes blindly, naively, _desperately_ that it doesn’t mean what he thinks it does.

“They’ll get over it,” Kairi says tightly, mouth a pinched, colorless line. Sweat drips down the tense, dirt covered lines of her face. “We’ve got bigger things to worry about. Sora, he’s not breathing—his heart’s not _beating_ —”

And everything freezes.

Sora blinks, blank and uncomprehending and unnervingly cold. Static rustles in his ears and then—

“Sora.”

He glances up. And there, just a few feet away, alive and whole, concern etched in the crinkles between his eyebrows, is Riku. Except—

This Riku is older in the eyes, his hair a long tangled braid over his shoulder, and he’s… wearing Komory Bat pajamas?

There’s a popping noise and Sora gasps, watching as everything around them bleeds color, smearing away into blurred monochromatic grays. With a hysterical laugh, he drops his face into his hands, digs his fingers in. “A dream,” he stutters out around the anxious heaving of his chest, because dream or not, he can still get panic attacks apparently because “of fucking course.”

Just his fucking luck.

You’d think he’d at least be used to it. He’s got more than enough baggage to fuel nightmares for the rest of his foreseeable life, however long that is, and that’s not even including all the shit he has to deal with from a past life. Even more, you’d think he’d be better at _recognizing_ when he’s in a dream, at least, but no.

It’s been over fifteen fucking years since his first Mark of Mastery exam, and it still catches him by surprise every damn time.

Every. Damn. Time.

Fuck.

Broad hands cover his, gently tugging them away. He keeps his eyes clenched shut, throat painfully tight as palms curve along his jaw, cradling the bone, scraping against the stubble he’s been too lazy to shave. Thumbs wipe at his heated cheeks, over the little divots made by his nails, like little windshield wipers, back and forth, back and forth. He times his breath to the motions. The easy metronome beat of it. A spark of recognition—he _knows_ that beat, that tune, _their song_ , and it gets a little easier to push down the panic, to grasp at the living, braided pulse of their bond and follow it back to Riku, to fold himself into all the spaces in Riku that were _made_ for him.

He leans into those hands helplessly, nuzzling. Takes comfort in the callouses and the skin warm band of metal pressing against his mouth.

“Hey.”

He sighs and opens his eyes. “Hi,” he croaks out, smiling weakly.

The lines between Riku’s brows ease as he cautiously returns it. Everything around them falls away into wisping columns of smoke until there’s only the two of them, bright and vibrant in an endless space of nothing. He kisses his forehead. “Come on,” Riku says as he pulls away and takes him by the hand, leads him back to the world of waking.

“Agh,” Sora groans the second he opens his tired eyes. Blinks blankly up at the ceiling, remembering—right, yes. He’s at their home in Twilight Town, he’s in their bed—Riku, snuffling awake beside him in the dark. It’s the middle of the night. They haven’t been on a mission in weeks, taking the time to vacation in their various homes across the worlds before they start teaching future Keyblade wielders full time. They’re stopping by the Disney Castle for lunch with the King, Donald, and Goofy later before setting off to Land of Dragons to finally meet Mulan and Shang’s daughter. It’s been years since… since that day. He rolls over and huffs at the uncomfortable pull of his sweat soaked shirt, yanks it off and tosses it clear across their room, nearly elbowing Riku in the eye in the process.

Good thing Riku’s got those fast Master reflexes.

“Careful.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles and flails back around to face him. His skin feels too tight and too loose all at once and he fucking hates it. He wiggles around more, turning this way and that, but finding nothing but discomfort. He just hopes Riku doesn’t notice.

Gods, who’s he kidding? Of course he does.

“You okay?” Riku asks and it’s tentative, worry still settling heavy in the faint lines in his face. Sora hates to see it there.

Seems like he’s always worrying him.

Sora shrugs and pets at Riku’s face until he softens against him, tugs on the lobe of an ear just for the way it makes his lips quirk the littlest bit. Drags a hand down the pale curve of his throat, lingering over that strong heartbeat before reaching down to hike Riku’s shirt up to get at the vulnerable skin of his stomach. Riku puts up with his gentle prodding, green eyes fluttering shut when Sora leans in and brushes his mouth along the sharp cut of his jaw, over the delicate skin of his eyelids, the bridge of his nose. Goosebumps prick up under Sora’s hand as he idly plays over the keys of his ribs, fingers catching on the scar tissue on his side, but he’s stopped from going any farther by a hand clamping around his wrist hard enough to bruise—not that Sora’s complaining. He likes to press his fingers into the marks.

Reminds him he’s alive, that Riku’s still alive too.

“Look at me.”

And see, it’s not that Sora doesn’t _want_ to look at Riku. He’s the most beautiful person Sora’s ever seen. Of course Sora wants to look at him, constantly. Always. If he could live his life without ever looking away from him, he would. If he were ever to die, for good, he’s the last thing he wants to see.

Except for how he really, kind of doesn’t want to right now.

Instead, he focuses on the cute Komory Bats stitched into Riku’s pajamas. He’d spent forever working with the three good fairies trying to get the designs exactly right, enduring all sorts of teasing from their friends because pajamas aren’t the most romantic anniversary gift, but it was the one he’d stuck with. They’d been together at that point for—well, depending on how they looked at it, anywhere between four years and like a million or something. Fuck if he knew. Still doesn’t, honestly.

(Not like it matters in the grand scheme of things. Riku’s always been it for him, even when he didn’t know it himself.)

But anyway, if a guy couldn’t get his man of basically forever some frankly adorable sleep wear, what even was the point?

“You guys definitely deserve each other,” Kairi’d said with an exasperated shake of her head.

“I know,” Sora sighed happily back. It wasn’t what she meant though, and he’s not one to take that lying down. “And like you’re one to talk. Two words, Kairi: Olette’s birthday.”

She slapped at his arm, face a red so deep it nearly matched her hair. “Oh, fuck off!”

All he knows is, it had been more than worth it for the nostalgic look on Riku’s face when he’d opened it.

(He’d also laughed himself into crying only a second later, and although it was always nice to see Riku’s smile, to hear his laugh, it was definitely _not_ the reaction Sora had been going for. “Here,” he’d choked out between snickers and handed him a neatly wrapped box. Riku always did wrap things so nicely. It’s a skill Sora envied.

He shook the box curiously, but it didn’t make any noise. “Hmm.”

“Just open the damn box, you goof,” Riku said, eyes bright and amused and so very warm.

“What the fuck!” Sora crowed and yanked out his very own custom-made set of Meow Wow underwear. They matched the apron Riku had gotten him last year. He smushed a smacking kiss to Riku’s cheek, to his grinning mouth. “They’re perfect.”

“So are you,” Riku replied, unexpectedly suave and exceptionally attractive with his pink cheeks and beautiful smile and that _face_ —holy shit.

That’s the thing about loving your best friend—one minute you’re laughing like normal and the next you’re being beaten over the head by their attractiveness.

And he could actually _do something_ about it, fuck.

“Riku,” Sora said, suddenly deathly serious, control tenuous. He carefully put his gift aside, turning so he was fully facing Riku on their bed.

He blinked. “Uh, what?”

“I’m going to fuck you so hard we break the Godsdamned bed.”

Riku stared at him unblinkingly for a beat, stunned. Then he smirked and it’s _that_ smirk, the competitive teasing one that Sora could _never_ ever ignore, the one that’s led to more than one bruise and more than a few causalities, mostly of the Heartless, Nobody, or inanimate variety. Roxas never did forgive them for breaking his favorite skateboard, even though they bought him a newer (better, in Sora’s humble opinion) one. “Is that a promise?” Riku drawled, voice a deep rasp.

“Prepare yourself,” Sora said and fell into him like a body to a grave.)

(It was the third bed they’d broken that month. He couldn’t say he was surprised when Master Yen Sid finally kicked them out of the Tower to fend for themselves.

It led to them getting their first house, on Corona of all worlds, so he’s never been all that cut up about it.)

“Sora,” he says, and oh, Sora knows that tone, but he’s not known for his stubborn determination—bullheadedness, if you ask Riku, but you’re not asking him now, are you? And like _he’s_ one to talk, anyway—for nothing.

“Shh.” Sora easily breaks the hold on his wrist and covers Riku’s face, laughing tiredly when his husband sputters.

“Sora,” he mutters petulantly. “What the hell—”

“Just,” Sora interrupts, “can I touch you? Can you let me take care of you?”

Riku pauses, bites his lip. Sora fights down the urge to lean down and bite it himself. Not yet. Instead, he focuses on the glint of his ring, visible even in the darkness of their room.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” he finally asks, slowly.

“No… You want to help? Let me take care of you.” He gives in, just a little, and drops a kiss against the soft smear of his mouth, whispers, “Please. I need—” to see you, to feel you, to remind myself you’re here.

To be in control.

He can feel the way Riku’s breath whooshes out of his lungs. “Of course.”

The words are barely out of Riku’s mouth before he crashes into him with the force of an ocean wave, adjusting to grip his face with both hands as he kisses him firm and unyielding—once, twice, and again for good measure, chasing the minute quirk of his mouth from one corner to the other and up to the cupid’s bow. Finally takes that plush bottom lip between his teeth and tugs just this side of painful, relishes the faint iron tang on his tongue when he swipes it against the bruised flesh until Riku’s mouth opens to him with a sigh. Groans at the familiar taste of him, lips and tongues dragging until he’s _all_ he can taste, until their mouths are raw and they taste the same. Riku’s chest hitches against his own, and he pushes in closer to feel more of him, to feel as much of him as he can, their legs tangling, their bodies slotting together effortlessly. Perfectly, like puzzle pieces.

But it’s not enough.

It’s never enough, not really.

(No.

It’s probably a selfish thought, it’s probably greedy and maybe more than a little unhealthy even, but where Riku is concerned? He always craves more. More of his time, more of his body, his mind, his patience and kindness, his smile, his _everything_. He wants _everything_ Riku can give him and more, wants to make a home in his heart, in his bones and never leave. Wants to split him apart atom by atom and bury himself in the spaces between.

This, this isn’t enough.

But for now, it’ll do.)

“Come here,” Riku says, voice rough and deep, and tugs at the chain of his crown necklace until he rolls overtop him, easing between the wide spread of his legs, settling close and comfortable. Falling into another kiss, this one desperate and hungry. All the places where skin touches skin flashes bright and burning. Warmth pools slow and liquid hot in his groin, an answering heat in the way Riku ruts up against him—perfect, Gods—it would be so easy to just fall into this, into him, to let their hips set the rhythm and ride it ‘til the end.

But Sora’s got plans and he refuses to be sidetracked, damn it.

He sits up—not too far, he can’t stand moving too far, he’d sooner peel the flesh from his bones—brows furrowed and serious. He bunches Riku’s top up, up under his arms, leaning down to mouth a trail from his bellybutton to the center of his sternum, pausing a moment to savor the feel of that heartbeat again. The rhythm of their song. He sighs and drops his forehead onto his chest, takes a deep breath, and another, pushing up into the palms dragging slow and comforting up the knobs of his spine. With a shake of his head, he pulls back, smirking in what he hopes is a suave manner, though it feels tired and lopsided on his face. “Let’s get you out of these, yeah?”

Riku rolls his eyes, but he’s easy and malleable under Sora’s touch, moving his arms when he drums fingers against an elbow and lifting his hips when he squeezes a thigh. Tossing his pants aside, Sora slides his hands along the lengths of those long, long legs, pressing a lingering kiss to the bend of one knee.

Gods, he’s so damn beautiful.

And he’s all his.

“Are you just going to keep staring, or are you actually going to do something?” Riku asks, eyes half lidded and gleaming, the green being slowly eaten up by pupil and oily ink.

Sora can’t help but laugh then, faint as it is. Heart swelling full and fond in his chest when Riku perks up at the sound. Riku’s so good to him, so good _for_ him. He likes to think he’s good for him too.

“I’m just getting started, beautiful,” he says and pushes up close enough to drop a slow, humming kiss to his pouty mouth, before winking and sliding back down to nip at the dip of his throat. Mouthing a bruise into the tendon, breathing the scent of sweat and the floral shampoo they share lurking behind his ear. Ducks his head to give one nipple a teasing suck while he pinches the other. Riku impatiently jabs him right in the side where he’s most ticklish, the bastard, so he bites, all sharp teeth, into his pec as punishment.

“Be nice.”

Riku huffs. “You be nice,” he grumbles, but he doesn’t tell Sora to stop, so he doesn’t. He can at least take a hint though, so he runs hands over his husband’s sides just for the way he shivers, fingers fitting between the notches of his ribs like they were made for them. Trailing down, down to the sharp cut of his hips, shouldering between those gorgeous legs to spread him out wider. Nuzzles at the thatch of hair arrowing down to his groin.

“I _am_ nice,” Sora says and digs his chin into the hollow of his hip, ignoring where Riku’s hot and hard and wanting. Rubs his stubbled jaw against the pale skin until it’s sensitive and feels almost hot to the touch. He smirks when Riku whines softly.

“No, you’re a fucking tease, you—oh,” he draws the word out long and low on a moan as Sora finally takes pity on him and licks the wet head of his cock. Sucks slow down the shaft, wrapping his fingers in a loose ring around the base.

A hand flies up to claw into his shoulder while another wrenches in his hair, pulling exactly how he likes. Static fizzles along his skin, delicate as lace and spider webs, shifting restlessly in his muscle, his bones. Goosebumps break out down his arms, shivers skating down his back. Without even thinking about it, everything in him responds to it in kind, that easy push-pull between them, burning thick in his veins—they’ve come a long way from breaking furniture or blowing up rooms, but it’s still a little difficult to keep _everything_ contained. And by the Gods is that hot—seeing that unwavering, brutally perfect control loosen and fracture under him.

 _Because of him_.

Fuck.

It’s devastating. It’s distracting. It’s _dangerous_ , but Gods does he love it.

His dick jerks in his underwear and he has to stop and breathe through it, nose smushed into the vulnerable seam of Riku’s thigh and groin. Pushes that feeling down, focuses instead on the way his scent is deeper here, the way he tastes like salt, the way the muscles in his thighs flex and shake under Sora’s hand when he finally takes his cock deep into his mouth and _sucks_.

He pulls off. “You were saying?”

Riku groans. “Fuck, Sora—please?” Easy, so easy for him. Only him. A satisfied warmth burns in his stomach, possessive and needy.

“Okay, okay, but only because you asked so nicely,” Sora says. “But first,” he holds his hand out and wiggles his fingers, “gimme the lube there, handsome.”

“Agh,” this groan is more disappointed than turned on. Sora gives his cock a rough stroke in mock offense, just enough to get him to jump. “Okay! Okay, I’m getting it, Gods.”

“Thank you,” Sora says as he accepts the bottle, pretending he doesn’t hear Riku’s scoff in response because he’s a good husband like that. It was in their vows and everything. He drops it beside him on the bed, yanking off his underwear as an afterthought. Buckles down and gets to work. He mouths at the head until Riku’s nails bite stinging pin pricks into his shoulder, the grip in his hair jerking convulsively when he tongues the slit just how he knows he likes. Leans down to suck all of him down, swallowing around him until his throat feels raw and sore. Only pulls back to breathe, tugs at his sack just to get him to yelp, and starts the process all over again.

It’s only when Riku’s a panting, cursing mess, every other breath a moan that hooks into Sora’s gut and _pulls_ every fucking time—he can’t help grinding into the mattress a little, trying to release a little of that throbbing pressure before _he_ explodes—that he finally moves to give his jaw a little break. Every line of his husband is wound tense, hips hitching, his legs squeezing up around his head, his powerful hands having moved to clench white knuckled at the bedsheets. Sora twists his head to bite into the pale spread of his thighs, suppressing a smile when he hears the distinct noise of tearing fabric—they’re due for new sheets anyways. Sucks until the skin bruises under his mouth and tongue as he uncaps the lube and reaches down between his own legs to prep himself, quick and perfunctory—just enough to ease the way, but not enough to make it too easy.

Sora likes it to burn a little, likes to feel Riku in the sore muscles, in the ache for hours and hours after they’re done.

Stroking him light and teasing with a slick hand, Sora levers himself up and raises an eyebrow at the tight look on Riku’s face. He laughs, letting him go long enough to lean up and press a couple smacking kisses to his mouth, to the sweaty skin of his temple. “You okay there, sweetheart?” he asks, voice an absolute wreck. Gods, he loves it.

Riku sighs and hums, relaxing into him. His eyes are glazed when he finally opens them. “Yeah. You?”

Sora melts a little. “With you? Always.”

He grins, bright and brilliant and absolutely beautiful. “Sappy,” he says, but he’s cupping Sora’s face in his gentle hands and dragging him down for a long, lingering kiss. Sweet and like they’ve got all the time in the worlds despite the heat still burning hot beneath their skins, the static buzzing in their veins, vibrating in the air.

“Ready?”

“For you?” There are stars in his eyes, something amused and fond in the blown inky darkness. “Always.”

Sora snorts, rolling his eyes to cover the way his heart flutters stupidly in his chest, the blush burning in his ears. “You think you’re so smooth, don’t you?” he grumbles, pushing himself up to settle astride Riku’s waist. He crosses his arms and pastes on an unimpressed look. “But you’re just as sappy as me.”

The innocent look Riku shoots him is sticky sweet and utterly fake. He palms the hard muscle of Sora’s thighs. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Sora says fondly, trying to look put-upon and failing miserably. He can’t help it. Riku just _does_ things to him. “Why do I even love you?”

“How the hell would I know? It’s something I ask myself every day.” And it’s teasing, but there’s a tender edge of truth to it in the lopsided quirk of his mouth—even after years and years and _years_ —and it makes Sora pause. Maybe he’s not the only one feeling too big, too small for his skin.

“Riku—”

“It’s okay,” Riku says quietly. “I know you love me.”

“And you love me.”

“Of course.”

Sora grabs one of Riku’s hands, holds it firmly against the old scar tissue x-ed right over his heart. “That’s all that matters.”

“I know.” His fingers stroke the knarled skin, little comforting swipes.

“Agh.” Sora releases him to yank at his shoulders instead. “Gods, come up here, damn it.”

Riku levers himself up, their breaths hitching together when Sora slides properly into his lap, the banked fire between them flaring up urgently. Sora drops his head into the hollow of his husband’s throat with a shaky sigh, wrapping his arms around him, squeezing harder when Riku tightens his arms around him too. Relaxes under the butterfly soft kisses Riku presses to his shoulder.

“If I could live in your arms forever, I would be happy.”

“Man, you’re on a roll tonight aren’t you?”

“Like you’re one to talk. Besides, if you didn’t like it, you wouldn’t have married me.”

“Please, Sora. I only married you for your good looks. Obviously.”

“Well, that’s good, because I only married _you_ for your hot bod.” Sora pulls back just enough to see Riku’s pleased face, laughing. “Now hurry up and get in me already before I die.”

Riku flushes, chuckling in disbelief, but he still reaches around Sora to stroke himself. The jut of his throat bobs when he swallows. Sora licks at it, just because he can. “Gods, you’re so shameless—do you even hear the shit that comes out of your mouth?”

“You love my mouth,” Sora says and slaps Riku’s hands away to position himself, leaning up into the bracing grip Riku has found on his hips.

“Well, you’re not wrong—fuck,” Riku grunts, biceps shaking under Sora’s hands as he sinks down slow, slow, slow until he’s fully seated.

“Oh—” Sora bites his lip as he adjusts, savoring the stretch, the way he feels full to splitting. How it feels like he’s straining against the seams, but this is good, this is better than before. Distracting, reminding. He’s almost tempted to just let go and take and _take_ —plans don’t always go the way you want them too, after all. And besides, between the two of them, Riku’s always been better about being patient once it gets to this part. He can just lay there and take it for hours and hours, as long as Sora wants to drag things out, but Sora… Well, he’s greedy. Insatiable. The moment he gets Riku’s cock in him, all bets are off. But see, who can blame him, all things considered? It’s almost what’s expected of him, after all these years, but he can scavenge together a little composure. Probably.

Maybe.

Well, he’s at least gonna give it his best effort.

Riku’s just too damn perfect for his own good, okay?

He shakes his head forcibly, piecing together the shattered remains of his focus, and draws Riku into a kiss, wet and sloppy and _hungry_. Uses a little of that supernatural strength of his to push Riku onto his back because he’s going to need the room for what he wants to do. He gasps at the way it shoves Riku deeper, the strained thrust up Riku can’t help, eyes clenching shut. Can’t help instinctively rocking into it with a whine. He only opens his eyes when he feels fingers wrap—shackling, tethering, anchoring—around his wrists. There’s blood welling up under his nails where they’ve bitten into Riku’s shoulders. Blood to match the marks Sora can still feel stinging in his own hips and shoulders. He loosens his grip, but only a bit.

He’s not the only one that likes marks.

“Good?” Riku asks, his voice a low rasp.

“Yes,” he hisses. “Now, stay. Just lie there and look pretty for me.”

Riku nods, mouth pinched into a stubborn line.

“Don’t move, okay? Can you do that for me?”

“Okay.”

He grinds down a little, testing, teasing, but besides tensing up tighter than a bow string, muscles straining, Riku doesn’t move. “Good boy,” Sora says and watches with a familiar thrill of awe at the way he shudders underneath him, the feel of his cock jolting inside him, hot and hard and absolutely fucking perfect. He can’t quite bite back a moan, the noise scraping through his sore throat. Gods, he’s so lucky. “You’re so good for me, Riku.”

It takes a moment of adjustment, but eventually Sora finds an angle that works for him, Riku’s dick brushing just close enough to that spot that lights him up from the inside, setting stars bursting across his eyes and goosebumps over his skin without actually hitting it—things won’t last very long if he gives into _that_ temptation. Sets a brutal rhythm, bouncing up and down, rough and slow and methodical, thighs straining, wanting to feel every Godsdamn inch of him. And if the way Riku can’t keep quiet, a string of lovely noises and sighs tumbling from his gorgeous mouth, it works for him too. The static builds thick in the air around him, inside him at his core, vibrating beneath his skin, heavy and so—“perfect—you’re so fucking perfect.”

Riku’s head whips to the side, eyes clenched shut. His jaw a harsh line. He squirms, hips twitching, but he doesn’t thrust even though Sora can tell he really wants to. His hands tighten, Sora’s bones grinding under his fingers. “I can’t—”

Without stopping, Sora rips his wrists from Riku’s grasp, twisting it around so Riku’s arms are flexed above his head, wrapping his fingers around the posts of their bed frame, squeezing—a command. Grabs him by the chin, forces his face up. “Look at me,” he says breathlessly, laughing a little at how the tables have turned.

“Sora—” Riku grits out.

“Godsdamn it, Riku—just look at me.” He finally blinks those oil slick eyes up at him, and Sora groans happily, picking up the pace, clenching on every down stroke. “There you are. Don’t you fucking dare look away or I’ll stop,” all lies of course, like Sora could ever stop, not now, not with Riku, “—Gods, you make me so crazy. Do you know how fucking crazy you make me?”

Do you know the power you have over me? How weak I am for you?

Nodding, Riku strains to keep his eyes open and focused on him, swallowing thickly, but he’s doing so well. So good. Sora’s so proud of him, loves him so fiercely he’s burning with it, the edges of his skin splitting from it and lighting their room up in gold.

“I don’t think you do,” Sora taunts playfully, twisting down roughly just to see Riku whimper and shake. Sweat drips off his nose when he ducks his head, his grin twisting into something almost verging on a snarl, looking at him through the fringe of his hair. “Gods—you have no idea what I would do for you—the lengths I would go just to make you smile, to make those that’ve wronged you pay—fuck—it almost scares me sometimes what I’d be willing to do…”

“I know the feeling.” Riku hisses through his teeth, eyes flashing. Sora almost wants to stop and take a picture—a Riku this thoroughly fucked is one he wants to remember forever—except that would mean _stopping_ , and he knows how close Riku is to coming undone, knows all his little tells, and that’s what he’s aiming for at this point.

“I know you do,” he agrees, because it _is_ true. Riku was already giving him everything before Sora even knew what the hell was going on. It’s only fair that Sora give him everything in return. “Gods, I just love you so much.”

Riku’s breath hitches, arms flexing, the metal of the bedframe bending and breaking under his fingers with a screech—the charge in the air around them sparks and crackles and _catches_ —and his eyes slam shut as he comes with a shout.

“Holy shit, Riku—you’re amazing, fuck,” Sora stutters gleefully, gentling the movement of his hips, sinking down into the cradle of his hips and rocking slow just to feel how much wetter and easier the slide is. He doesn’t stop even after his husband’s shuddering and over sensitive between his legs, chest heaving around his ragged breaths, mouth a red smear on his face. He can keep going if he wanted to, keep using him until he’s come and maybe keep going after that too. Break the whole bed and maybe a window or their dresser like old times, when they were younger and dumber and had a lot less control. Riku wouldn’t mind. He’s almost as insatiable as Sora is (even if he likes to pretend otherwise) and he hasn’t said anything yet besides, is still being so very good for him, but that wasn’t the point of all this.

He pulls off and drops to the side with a sigh, ignoring the persistent throbbing in his groin to carefully ease Riku’s fingers from the wrecked bedframe. Kisses his lax knuckles, the scar on his wrist, the pink curve of his cheek.

Riku squints up at him, frowning. “What about you?” he asks, words slurring.

Sora shrugs. “I’m good. My goal was to take care of you, remember. Get _you_ off, not me.” He shifts, humming when everything aches pleasantly. It’ll be worse later. Sora absolutely can’t wait. “I got what I wanted.”

He stares at him blankly for a moment before huffing in exasperation. “Like hell you did,” he says and flails none-too gracefully, all uncoordinated limbs and post-orgasm haze, into Sora’s space.

“Hey—” he starts, but Riku’s already there, crushing him close and kissing him on the mouth, harsh and heated and heavy, stroking his tongue against the slick surface of his teeth the second he parts his lips. Sora pulls back with a laugh.

“Like I’d ever leave you like this, Gods, Sora.” Riku rolls his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

“Hey now,” he says, petulant this time and more than ready to let Riku know it, but his rant quickly turns into a surprised squeak as fingers dip down into the cleft of his ass.

Riku raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, yeah, alright. Just hurry it up—I ain’t got all night,” Sora grumbles, ears burning. He’d been ready to just roll over and accept his fate, maybe sneak away to jerk off in the attached bathroom so Riku could sleep off the frankly mind-blowing orgasm Sora had bestowed upon him, but he’s still impossibly, aggravatingly riled up and desperate for it. He’s just as easy for Riku in the end, even after all these years. Utterly, pathetically, happily weak for him.

Not that he’d have it any other way.

(He never stood a chance, anyway.)

Riku smirks. “Is that a dare?”

“Sure is. Let’s see what you’ve got, big guy.”

For all his bravado, it doesn’t actually take that long. It’s as easy as Riku stroking his cock exactly how he loves it and prodding at where he’s still wet and open. Slipping a couple fingers inside to unerringly find that spot inside him and grinding his fingers relentlessly against it until Sora is sobbing into his mouth and coming onto both their stomachs with a crack like lightning blasting through the room.

Sora drops his head into the curve of his throat, shivering. Curling into the circle of Riku’s arms, fitting perfectly into his negative space. Puts himself back together so he’s a little less everywhere and a little more himself.

“I got you,” Riku says.

And Gods, he believes him. With every fiber of his being, he believes him.

His breath hitches in his chest. He hugs him closer, focuses on the warmth and weight of Riku against him. Enjoys the lingering crawl of static through the air, the tacky press of their skin, leaning into the methodical drag of Riku’s hand up and down his spine. Gods, they’re a mess.

“I know. I got you too.”

“I know you do.” His laugh is soft and sweet against his ear. His Riku.

He beams, pressing a kiss to the skin, quick as winking.

“Your hair’s a mess.”

“My hair’s always a mess,” Sora says, lounging back in their bed. They’re gonna need a new headboard and possibly a couple new light bulbs if Sora heard the shattering noises right, but they didn’t short-circuit Twilight Town’s electrical grid and cause a mass outage this time, so he counts it as a win. Humming, he tugs lightly on the tangled ends of Riku’s hair. It’s almost as long as it had been, Gods, thousands of years ago. Definitely longer than Sora can remember it ever being in this lifetime. More than half of it has fallen out of the twist he’d put it in before bed. “Your braid is absolutely ruined though.”

Riku shrugs, tossing the used washcloth at their laundry. Because it’s Riku, it makes it right in, no problems. Sora snorts and looks away when he smirks at him. Gods, miss a few too many baskets and it’s like the guy thinks he’s better than him. Please. Sora knows where he sleeps and he knows all his dirty little secrets. He’s got no leg to stand on. Riku pulls the tie off, shaking out the long curtain of his hair. “Fix it for me?”

Sora groans, but it’s all for show. He doesn’t actually mind. It’s almost relaxing, now that he’s pretty good at the whole braiding thing. Between Riku and his luscious locks and the various children they’re quite happy to be Godsparents to, not even Sora’s clumsy ass fingers couldn’t pick up on it. Practice, for when they finally settle down enough to have a family of their own, he figures. A joyful thrill twists through him, warm and excited.

Soon.

“So bossy.” Combing his fingers through the silver strands, he carefully eases out the knots. Splits the sections and twists them easily into a loose fishtail, just like Olette taught him, and ties off the end. But he doesn’t let go, tracing his thumbs along the paths of hair.

“Hey, Riku.”

“Hm?” He looks back over his shoulder.

“Is it—is it bad that I still sort of wish we’d killed them?” Them, of course, being Master of Masters and Luxu. Just seeing them still pisses Sora off to the point of seeing red, spitting and feral. He doesn’t just want to kill them, he wants to rip their throats out with his _teeth_. He can barely stand to be in the same room as them, relying instead on their friends to act as intermediaries and deal with them in their stead if it’s ever necessary, which can be often, depending on the mission or world they’re on. Anti-Form and Rage Form, at least, were about survival, instinctive reactions to danger and to Sora suppressing his emotions and not dealing with them properly—he hasn’t had problems with those forms for years.

But this anger, it’s scary in the unbridled, unquenchable bloodthirstiness of it, the uncontrollable volatile impulse to wipe these two people out of existence in the most violent way possible.

And it’s all him.

Just him.

It’s almost been a decade.

But then, in some ways, Sora is older than even the Lanes In Between with a memory to match and a possessiveness only someone who’s lived just as long would understand. This is a grudge he doesn’t foresee an end to. He doesn’t care that it had “been for the greater good” or whatever. Such bullshit. They’re just lucky the whole “killing Riku” thing had turned out to be temporary and “just as they’d planned,” or nothing would have stopped Sora from scattering the fragments of their hearts across the worlds.

They’re honestly lucky to even be alive at all, considering how serious Vanitas had been in his own pursuit of them on his behalf. He can’t stand to be near them either. It’s some common ground Sora had never expected to share with the guy, but it’s nice. They’ve bonded pretty thoroughly over all the ways they were planning on tearing them to pieces. Riku, on the other hand, understands the sentiment, though his problem has always been more focused on what they did to _Sora_ and not what they did to him.

Which, well, Sora’s the same, so it is what it is.

Guess they’ll just be mad on the other’s behalf into eternity, or however long they live.

Sounds wonderful.

He can’t wait.

“They definitely could’ve been more forthcoming with their plans,” Riku agrees, though he at least knows better than to suggest it would have actually changed anything. They both know neither of them would have agreed to the plan even if they _had_ been told. “I don’t think it’s bad. It’s about the choices you make now, I guess.” He turns and flops suddenly against Sora so he collapses back onto the bed with a yelp. It takes a little maneuvering to get settled, but it ends with his husband cuddled up half on top of him, head on his shoulder. Sora hums happily. He likes the feel of Riku’s weight pressing him down into the mattress, heavy and perfect. It’s something he could never forget, not even when he’s asleep and his dreams are doing their best to fuck with him.

“With great power comes great responsibility—that’s what that Parker kid from Earth-616 says all the time, right?” Riku mumbles into his neck, breath warm and ticklish against his skin.

Sora frowns. “Yeah, I guess.”

A pause. He can practically taste the words Riku’s rolling around on his tongue, mulling over them like they’re his own. Not that it’s all that difficult to guess what he wants to say. Sora shouldn’t have even brought it up, but whatever. It’s out there. Riku would have brought it up eventually anyway.

(He’d be the same if the situation was reversed, so it’s not like he can talk anyways. He can hardly begrudge Riku for it, even if it _does_ make him feel small and vulnerable and tired.)

“What you said before, about how you’ve got me—I know you always will,” Riku finally says, and it’s decidedly _not_ the direction Sora had been expecting him to go, pushing up just enough to look at him. His fist pushes tight and knowing against his chest, fingers wrapped in the chain of his necklace. Sora grabs his hand desperately and holds on, heart pounding sharp against his sternum. “Just like you did before.”

“Riku…”

“You saved me, have saved me so many times,” he slogs on anyways, serious and firm, eyes a flinty glint in the dark. “I never had any doubts that you would. I know you’ll always be there. That you’ll always have my back. Just like I’ll always have yours. No matter what.”

Sora swallows thick around the lump sitting high in his throat. “Gods, Riku.” Helpless, chest feeling too full, his skin too bright, he drags Riku in to kiss his terrible, awful, _beautiful_ mouth.

“For you? Always.”

-

“In the crooks of your body, I find my religion.” –Sappho

-

**Author's Note:**

> If you’d like to skip the smut, it “officially” starts after the line: He can feel the way Riku’s breath whooshes out of his lungs. “Of course.”  
> And then you can pick up the end for those sweet, sweet cuddles and emotional resolution on this line: “I got you,” Riku says.
> 
> Anyways, I hope y’all appreciate my little ref to Marvel. Disney owns it and although I have lots of opinions on that, it might be interesting to see if they ever incorporate a Marvel world into KH. 
> 
> Thank you all so, so, SO much for all your kudos and comments! This series was so fun to write and explore. I’m glad I could take this journey with you all <3
> 
> Stay safe!


End file.
